I read this story at the Writers Junction Literary Marathon the other night - ENJOY.

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I squat over the toilet out of habit, not because of the girls using the bathroom before me.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

I was at the Hollywood Bowl for a Motley Crue concert. 

I should’ve brought hand sanitizer too.

I’ve been in love with Motley Crue and just about any butt rock band from the 80s and 90s since I was a pre-teen watching Headbangers Ball on a Saturday night. I stayed up until MIDNIGHT for that show.  I’d watch Riki Ratchman and his cheesiness talk to drugged out hair bands after they debuted their new sketchy music video. They had nothing important to say, but I was all ears.

While I watched and lusted, people were actually living it on the Sunset Strip.  I was in
North Hollywood, sleeping in my twin bed in a room I shared with my brother.  I used to
bemoan my birth being too late and in the wrong era - why wasn’t I out there with all those other groupies fawning over Guns n’ Roses, pulling Kip Winger’s pants down, and getting fondled by Sebastian Bach?

Why? Because God doesn’t want me to have crabs.

By the time I hit 21 I was able to visit The Sunset Strip - all that was left were cheese
dicks in silk shirts, or guys with strategically ripped pants…sometimes they had firey flames sewed onto their jeans.  My dream and I wept.

I didn’t believe in monogamy during my wishful skanky pre-teen years, and I was always jealous of Lita Ford.  That tramp dated Nikki Sixx, had an awesome album, and did a duet with Ozzy.  When I wasn’t coveting her life, I thought about my various relationships with these guys.  I often cheated on Kip Winger with Nikki Sixx whenever Kip would piss me off.  Kip was my Han Solo.  Nikki was my dirty secret crush.  And….sometimes I would even let Richie Sambora touch me.  I shudder the thought right now, but back then I thought of him as a sensitive soul - like all guys from New Jersey.

These thoughts came flooding back to me as I watched my fantasy men run around the
stage…but, it’s just not the same.  Most of their STDs have been cured, and there was no more danger.  They’re sober and flaccid now.  I was still craving the insanity I heard so much about, and now that I was here it just seemed sad.  Those nearly naked young girls gyrating next to Vince Neil looked really awkward.  Mick Mars really needs a wheelchair.  Tommy Lee’s body is powered by his penis.  Nikki Sixx…well, Nikki, you still look damn fine - who knew heroin preserved people so well? 

Just when I was about to give up on the insanity happening - someone in the audience tossed some beer at my head. Thank God for that.  Something crazy from a solid fan!  As I turned around to give a thumbs up I saw a teenager wearing a crisp new Motley Crue shirt straight from Hot Topic.  DIE, YOU POSER.

But just then, it happened - a woman tried to steal some seats next to me.  She was a true fan, a fan with fire in her crotch, a fan with fake beachball sagging tits.  Her face was lined with Jagermeister, and her eyes sunk into her smokers crow feet.  She was who I wanted to be when I was thirteen.  She was living it, while I was dreaming it.

Looking at her jump around and scream made me realize what my future could’ve looked like if I was born a decade earlier - a 45 year old lady who steals cheap seats at the Hollywood bowl, has split ends in my hair extensions, and lets my vagina fall out of a dress from Forever 21.

I’m really happy that I was young enough to take a detour from metal bands and fall in love with New Kids on the Block.  Donnie Wahlberg, you’ll always be my #1.

Billboards have been popping up left and right about The Rapture and how it’s set to happen on May 21st, 2011 - that kinda sucks cause it’s my friend Aimee’s bday.  She should celebrate early, but not too early cause mine is on May 9th and I don’t want her stealing my thunder.

There is an organization called “After the Rapture Pet Care” and they find atheist homes to care for your pets after you float into heaven and your cat, bird, iguana, etc watch you leave them behind.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OySl4D7S4U

Here is the deal: after the Rapture happens, everyone else left behind is going to be living in dire straights.  When dragons come flying outta the sky, the least of my concerns will be feeding my OWN cat, let alone some lucky bastards that got to leave this earth.  

Spending any amount of money for your animal to eat for six or so months until the world officially ends is A BAD INVESTMENT.  Chances are they’ll be feasting on charred human flesh, and us left behind will be forced to dine at Chili’s. 

However, there is a silver lining.  For one, this guy will most likely be gone:

If you’ve never seen an episode of Way of the Master on TBN, it’s a fantastic show. 

These two butt plugs would go around and talk to people on the streets about saving their souls.  They grill people on the commandments, hold some broken guy up while he comes to the realization that he is indeed a sinner, and wipe his tears away.  

My only wish is that when Ray and Kirk get to the gates of heaven, a dangerously horny and beefy homosexual named Bruce is waiting for them.